


The Adventure Of The Brothers-In-Arms (1879)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [21]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fraud, Impersonation, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Case 14: A small case of possible impersonation, in which Doctor John Watson realizes a most inconvenient truth - he has those things called Feelings for a certain blue-eyed someone.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angels_rdvd64](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angels_rdvd64/gifts).



> Mentioned elsewhere as 'the case of John Vincent Harden'.

_“As I was going to St. Ives,_  
_I met a man with seven wives,_  
_Each wife had seven sacks,_  
_Each sack had seven cats,_  
_Each cat had seven kits._  
_Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,_  
_How many were there going to St. Ives?”_

__

__

“One, obviously.”

I did not squawk, or do an unmanly little jump into the air. Well, not much of one. I turned and glared at my soon to be ex-friend, who smiled innocently back at me.

“I would have thought that you would claim there to have been insufficient information”, I said a little haughtily. “We are not told whether the man and his party were overtaken by the speaker on their way to the town, or met coming away from it. You are the one always banging on about the importance of having all the facts.”

“I like facts”, he said simply. “But I rather think that this case will not be as easily solved as a child's riddle.”

I sighed in a put-upon manner, although secretly I was pleased at my new role of assistant to the great detective. This morning he had been summoned to wait on the Earl of Derby himself. Thanks to some adroit manoeuvring by the current government, George Duke of Cambridge, our dear queen's cousin, and a man who could very well have been king himself had things worked out differently (1), was still Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces in name, but his role had been re-worked to be subservient to that of the Secretary of State for War, the aforementioned earl, who was a former captain in the army and a sound man. It was the latter who had sent for Holmes to ask him to investigate a 'delicate matter'. To wit, the Kilmartin brothers.

James and John Kilmartin were ex-soldiers, then in their late forties and recently retired from the British Army. They had achieved fame for their part in the memorable Battle of Rorke's Drift six months earlier, where barely a hundred British regulars had fought off over three thousand savage Zulu warriors. Both men had been badly injured in the battle, hence their retirement, and their return to England had even made the London press. The earl of course had been pleased at the good publicity, which was why subsequent events had led him to call for Holmes.

The two brothers lived alone in a small house called "Fenchurch", on the road between St. Ives and the nearby village of Fenstanton. John was unmarried, whilst James had wed a Boer girl during his first posting in southern Africa, over two decades earlier, and she had had two sons, both boys, dying whilst giving birth to the second. These brothers, both unmarried, shared a small cottage less than half a mile from their father's house, and it was the younger, Augustus, who came to meet us at a small restaurant in town which, disappointingly, did not even serve pie!

“His Grace was less than communicative about the nature of the case that he wished us to investigate”, Holmes said as we sat down. “I must tell you, Mr. Kilmartin, that I myself was disinclined to take a case based on such little information. It is fortunate for you and your uncle that Doctor Watson here is such an ardent patriot, and pressed me to accept it.”

I blushed at my mention. Yes, I had said that I wished Holmes would take this case, but I had not expected him to actually follow my advice. And his use of the 'us' word made me feel warm inside, even though I strongly suspected that I would supply little if anything to the investigation.

“I am thankful that you have come”, Mr. Kilmartin said gravely. “The matter is a serious one, and I do not think that it can be easily resolved. My father would be grateful if you could find a solution, because I do not see one myself.”

“When a lawyer says that”, Holmes observed, “it is indeed ominous. But kindly place all the facts before us, and we shall see what we can do.”

+~+~+

“The matter in question concerns a Mr. John Vincent Harden”, Mr. Kilmartin began, once coffee had been served (so at least Holmes was fully caffeinated!). “My father and uncle returned to the town in May, having managed to secure a berth on one of the faster ships coming round the Cape, and for a few weeks all was well. Until early in June, when Mr. Harden arrived.”

“Who is this Mr. Harden?” I ventured. Mr. Kilmartin hesitated.

“He claims to be my half-cousin”, he said at last, “the result of an affair that Uncle John had with a girl before he went off to his first posting abroad. He is lying, of course.”

Holmes looked at him sharply.

“How can you know that?” he demanded. The young lawyer snorted.

“My uncle may be a little withdrawn and anti-social, but he would _never_ do anything like that!” he said scornfully.

I wondered how he could be so sure. Holmes looked thoughtful for a moment, but when he spoke, it seemed that he had dropped that particular line of questioning.

“Why should this Mr. Harden lie?” he asked.

“My grandfather, the late Colonel Julius Kilmartin, left everything he died possessed of jointly to my father and uncle”, our host explained. “It was a very large estate. Uncle John is away teaching at Sandhurst for five years, so my father is mostly alone at his house, although of course we both keep an eye on him.”

Holmes nodded. He clearly (to me, at least) had something, but was not ready to share it yet.

“So Mr. Harden is trying to obtain recognition as your cousin”, he said. “What proof does he have?”

“He has not yet shown any”, Mr. Kilmartin said.. “The only problem is that his mother hails from Gibraltar, and I know that my uncle served there at around the time of Mr. Harden's birth. But that he would do such a thing is out of the question!”

Holmes pressed his long fingers together and thought for a moment. His next question surprised me.

“Who is your family doctor?”

Mr. Kilmartin looked as surprised as I was by the question. 

“Doctor Forrest”, he said. “His surgery is in the High Street, next to the Taverner's Inn. Is that important?”

“I rather think that it may be”, Holmes said mysteriously. “If you leave us your card, we shall call when we have news.”

+~+~+

Holmes duly called in at the doctor's, but whatever he was looking for was apparently not there, because he was out in barely a minute. He chuckled at my confusion.

“We shall wire Bacchus in London”, he said, “and he can make himself useful for once.”

“What about?” I asked, exasperatedly.

“Wait and see!” he teased.

I pouted.

+~+~+

Whilst Holmes sent his telegram, I purchased a newspaper from the shop. I noticed that the claims of this Mr. Harden had made the front page, and I winced. I mentioned it to Holmes when he came out, but he seemed unperturbed.

“Do you still wish to go over to Huntingdon?” he asked. A fellow student from St. Bartholomew's had taken up a post in the nearby county town, and I had mentioned that, time permitting, I might call in on him.

“If you do not need me”, I said. 

“Maybe later”, he said. “The post office has a railway timetable, so you can see if there is a train that will get you there and back by this evening.”

As it happened, there was, so we separated and I went off to see Doctor Edward Merridale.

+~+~+

Holmes and I had arranged to meet back at the inn but I was earlier than expected, so decided to take a walk along the High Street. The midsummer sun had eased off, and it was pleasurable to walk down the streets of an old country town and....

Ye Gods!

I stared incredulously through the window of the same restaurant where Holmes and I had met Mr. Kilmartin earlier that same day. Holmes was back in there – and opposite him was some blonde female, clearly trying to flirt with him. 

I blinked. What the hell was I thinking? We were just two friends neither of whom who had found partners we wished to raise a family with, and were enjoying ourselves whilst we were still young enough so to do. It was stupid of me to think that it would ever be permanent; after all; I had only lived with the man for a few years.

He looked up sharply from his conversation, and I just had time to dodge out of sight. I decided to walk back to the inn, and see if the fresh Huntingdonshire air would help me cope with my misery. 

It did not.

+~+~+

Holmes was late back from his da.... meeting, which of course set my mind running even more frantically, and I wondered if he had taken his lady-friend for a walk or... well, even back to her house? I got into bed whilst it was still light outside and tried to read my book, but my current choice of preternatural adventures could not hold my attention, my mind straying constantly to my absent friend. Finally he returned, seemingly tired out – Lord, why? - and undressed immediately before getting into his bed and falling asleep at once. I hated how he could do that. 

Next morning I was still feeling down. I hoped that Holmes would not notice which, considering his skills, showed just how out of sorts I was.

“What is wrong?” he yawned over breakfast. “You look like someone has told you about my secret career as an axe-murderer!”

“I saw you with that woman!” I blurted out, wishing a second too late that my mouth would wait for the guard's whistle before charging out of the station. To my surprise, he chuckled.

“Yes, that was Miss Featherstone, Doctor Forrest's secretary”, he said. “In light of how I expected the case to develop, I felt it would be useful to find out what role she herself played in recent developments.”

I looked at him in confusion. 

“What does the doctor's secretary have to do with anything?” I demanded.

He looked at me curiously, and I prayed to whatever deity might be listening that he would not ask the obvious question. I do not know how many credits I used up in the next world, but it worked. He hesitated only briefly before returning to his breakfast.

“I shall tell you later”, he mumbled over his beloved bacon.

Yes, and half of my bacon too!

+~+~+

At Mr. Kilmartin's office, we were introduced to Mr. John Vincent Harden. I have to say that I disliked the man on sight; he had one of those faces that suggests that some parts of humanity had not descended that far from our common ancestors with vermin. He was about twenty-one years of age, and had brown hair that was both slicked down and perfumed. Pretentious indeed! He squinted at us over the top of thick-framed spectacles.

“I trust that you gentlemen are not going to interfere in my rightful claims against my father's estate”, he sniffed.

Ye Gods, even his voice was nasal! I hated him even more. Holmes sat down in the other visitors' chair, whilst I stood.

“I understand that your claim is that Mr. John Kilmartin is your father”, Holmes said carefully, “which would make you the result of a relationship between him and your mother Miss Betty Martin, later Mrs. Cannock, over two decades ago.”

“It is not a claim; it is a fact”, Mr. Harden said testily.

“May I ask if your mother is aware of your pursuing this claim?” Holmes asked.

“My mother has nothing to do with me any more”, the man said, sounding bitter about it. “She disapproves of my decision, but that is her right. All I demand is a fair settlement.”

“Oh, I am sure that we can reach a settlement that is quite fair”, Holmes said.

I knew that voice. He had something. Holmes took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and placed them on the desk in front of Mr. Harden.

“What are these?” the man demanded, not touching them.

“Papers concerning the recent collapse of the Farnborough and Fleet Insurance Company”, Holmes said airily. “I had them couriered up here from London on the first train of the day.”

Mr. Harden had gone pale. 

“I do not know what you are talking about, sir”, he sniffed.

Holmes shook his head at him.

“It really will not do, Mr. Harden”, he said reprovingly. “However, since you persist in denial, I will tell you and the others what really brought you here. The collapse of the Farnborough and Fleet hit many investors, amongst whom was your stepfather, Mr. Caleb Cannock of Woking, Surrey. Somehow he subsequently found out that you were involved in bringing about that collapse, and he offered you a deal.”

“You lie!”

“Mr. Cannock knew of his wife's background, and that she had had a brief friendship with one of the Kilmartins when they were both younger”, Holmes went on. “Checking the dates, he realized that you were of the right age to claim to be a result of that, and that whilst a paternity claim might or might not be successfully pursued, the Kilmartins would probably pay good money to get you to go away. Indeed, considering the good publicity that their name has brought the army, even the British government might dip into their taxpayers' pockets to be rid of you. So the two of you came up with this little ramp to blackmail two heroic men who have served this country well. You are both rascals of the first order!”

“Lies!” the man hissed, looking increasingly nervous.

“However, when you came to St. Ives, you decided to check things out first, and met with Miss Featherstone, the local doctor's secretary”, Holmes went on. “She, in a moment of weakness, let slip a certain fact that greatly strengthened your hand, one which made you realize the Kilmartins would pay even more to buy your silence. You made your play, but you, sir, have lost.”

“I shall go to the papers!” he threatened.

Holmes smiled darkly, and took an envelope out of his pocket, which he placed before the man. Mr. Harden looked at it fearfully.

“What is that?” he asked.

“A train ticket to London, and a ticket for the barque “Elizabeth”, due to leave the docks at eight this evening”, Holmes said. “You will return to your hotel, pack, take the train to King's Cross, and be out of this country by nightfall. But Mr. Harden....”

He moved his chair closer to the other man, who visibly cowered.

“Kindly understand that I have friends whose reach is incredibly long. If any word of what you know appears in a single London newspaper any time in the future, then there will be a knife in your back less than twenty-four hours after such an event. The “Elizabeth” stops off in San Salvador, Cape Town, Bombay and Singapore before reaching Australia. No matter where you choose to restart your life, my agents will find you. And kill you.”

His tone was cold, and even I shivered. Mr. Harden whimpered, and almost fell over his feet as he all but ran from the office. Holmes smiled reassuringly at me, and I let loose a breath I did not even know that I had been holding in. He turned to Mr. Kilmartin.

“I think, sir”, he said calmly, “that you should go and inform your father that all is well. And then possibly.... celebrate the news with your brother.”

The young lawyer looked as shocked as I felt, but nodded, and thanked Holmes profusely for his efforts.

+~+~+

We checked out of the hotel and took a train back to Cambridge, where we changed to the main line to London. Holmes had checked at St. Ives station, and Mr. Harden had caught an earlier train.

“So what was the terrible secret that Mr. John Vincent Harden extracted from Miss Featherstone?” I asked.

Holmes smiled at me.

“I am afraid that this is one case that will not see the light of day for many a year”, he said ruefully. “But it has certainly been interesting. Especially your unwonted display of jealousy over Miss Featherstone.”

I blushed fiercely. He chuckled.

“I am sure that James Kilmartin is mostly a good man”, Holmes began. "Sadly, it was an act of kindness on his part that led to his family's recent troubles. Bacchus found for me that a colleague of his now in India, a Major Brockenhurst, had left behind a young son at home, Augustus, not far short of the age of the Colonel's own son. The major died, and the colonel had promised to do what he could for the boy when he returned to England. In the event he decided to adopt him alongside his own son, Jameson. I saw pictures of them both at the office, and they are very similar in appearance; I might almost have thought them twins.”

He sounded exasperated at not knowing that one detail. I smiled at that.

“The Brockenhursts were involved in a major scandal at the time, and the colonel managed to bury the boy's past successfully, passing him off as his own son”, Holmes went on. “All was well until the boys hit puberty, and began to develop feelings - for each other! Naturally such a thing between brothers of the blood was unthinkable, and James Kilmartin understandably did not approve of the relationship, limiting it by the simple expedient of not telling the boys the truth. However, it is truly said that 'the truth will out', especially when one has a blabbermouth the size of Miss Featherstone in the vicinity. The boys found out the truth but, for their father's sake, agreed not to be open in their relationship.”

I thought about that for a moment. I could see why the 'brothers' had taken that choice. Small towns were instinctively conservative, but for two brothers to share a house – well, it would be only natural. No-one would suspect anything between them. So that was what Holmes had meant when he had told Augustus Kilmartin about celebrating with his 'brother'!

“So to continue”, Holmes said. “All marches well; the 'brothers' grow into two fine young men, and their father and uncle rightly ascend to become national heroes as a result of their brave actions. Unfortunately, we then have the unpleasant Mr. Harden, on the lookout for money to fund the lifestyle he presumes to think that he deserves in some way. He comes to St. Ives hoping to have his silence bought, but in checking his story he learns the family secret from a garrulous Miss Featherstone. She is a recent arrival there, and I can but hope she does not last long. Not only is she terribly indiscreet, her perfume is overpowering.”

I smiled at that. 

“It is sad in a way, though”, I said. “They love each other, but must remain 'brothers' to stop tongues wagging.”

“Can you imagine how the British Army would react to such a scandal?” he snorted. “The papers would have a field day with the story, and their lives here would become untenable. Plus, of course, many would claim that they really are brothers, and that they are committing incest. No, life is far from perfect, and this is in all the best solution.”

“That is so old-fashioned”, I said. “People should be allowed to do what they want, provided it is with consenting adults.”

“And provided that it does not make other people jealous!” he grinned.

I pouted.

+~+~+

Our next adventure takes us points south-west to one man who had got away with a crime, and another who looks at my friend in quite the wrong way.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Following the death of the Prince Regent's daughter Charlotte in 1817, George III's elderly sons scrambled belatedly into their marriage-beds in an attempt to produce an heir. George, the Duke of Cambridge mentioned here, was the son of the king's seventh son Adolphus Duke of Cambridge, and was born on March 26th, 1819. Two months later however young George was supplanted when Edward Duke of Kent had a daughter, the future Queen Victoria.


End file.
